


The Beast of Broadway Affair

by Rose_of_Pollux



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-08 15:04:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11649057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: For two weeks, sightings of a monstrous beast in Midtown Manhattan have filled the news.  After being rescued from THRUSH, Napoleon has reason to believe that he is the one transforming into the creature.  Faced with this unfamiliar situation, Napoleon now turns to Illya to find out just what happened to him during his two-week captivity, as well as helping him stay human.





	1. Act I: Ever a Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> This is a slash version of a gen fic I'm cross-posting to ff.net; if you prefer gen, I'll be updating that version alongside this one.

It was always a nerve-wracking moment, raiding a THRUSH stronghold to recover an imprisoned partner. There was no way of knowing what to expect—what condition the partner would be in. For Illya, it had been two weeks since Napoleon had been captured, and the Russian had spent every hour thinking only of finding him again.

Now, he had found where he had been held; THRUSH had flown the coop and hadn’t bothered to take prisoners with them. As other U.N.C.L.E. agents freed the other prisoners, Illya looked in each cell for Napoleon until--

“Hey, glad you could make it!”

Illya paused, looking into a cell to see Napoleon, reclining on a cot and propping himself up with one arm, looking at him as he used his free hand to wave to him. He was dressed in a THRUSH prisoner’s uniform, like all the other captives, but he seemed be unharmed and in high spirits.

“Are you alright?” Illya asked, as he unlocked the cell door.

“Well, I’ve been bored out of my mind, but, otherwise, I’m fine,” Napoleon said. “Well, that and… the fact that I’ve missed you.”

He drew in for an affectionate, private greeting, but Illya reluctantly grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Others are here to help the other prisoners,” Illya explained.

“Ah…” Napoleon said, disappointed. “I don’t suppose you managed to recover the clothes THRUSH took from me? They were very determined to ensure that I didn’t have access to any secret pockets that I could have hidden things in…”

“Sadly, Napoleon, they searched your suit for hidden pockets—very, very thoroughly,” Illya said.

Napoleon let his face fall.

“Say it isn’t so--!” he exclaimed, holding his arm up to his forehead for a melodramatic effect.

“Shredded,” Illya finished, apologetically. “But cheer up, _Dorogoy._ I am sure you will be reimbursed, since the damage was clearly done by overzealous THRUSHies. Your wardrobe will recover.”

“I suppose I can live with that,” Napoleon said, with a mock sigh. “Now let’s get out of here; I want to go home and put my feet up.”

“You have earned it,” Illya said. “But are you certain you are well enough?”

“I feel fine,” Napoleon insisted. “They didn’t try anything while I was here—surprisingly. They just kept me around in this cell. To be honest, I was beginning to wonder why I was even here, if they weren’t going to even try to interrogate me.”

“They didn’t question you at all? About anything?”

“Nope—not a thing,” Napoleon said, as he and Illya exited the cell. “Were they making a ransom or trade offer for me?”

Illya shook his head.

“How odd…” the Russian then mused. “You are C.E.A., after all. As you said, one would expect them to have at least tried to question you.”

“Yeah, you’d think…” Napoleon said. He held out his arms, and, sure enough, there wasn’t a mark on them—not even a bruise. “Huh. Well, as long as I get my suit reimbursed, I can’t complain. Are we going home?”

“You are certain you don’t want to stop at Medical first and make sure there is nothing wrong?”

“I feel perfect,” Napoleon said, with a shrug. “Just let me kick back and relax—that’s all I need. Maybe we can spend the rest of the day relaxing.”

“Very well,” Illya said. “But you appear to have lost your sense of time being cooped up here.”

“Oh?”

“It’s past suppertime; there is no ‘rest of the day,’ Napoleon.”

“…You gave up a meal for me? Wow, you really _do_ love me!”

Illya smiled.

“Of course I did. With my worry, I have barely had an appetite these past two weeks. Come; let’s help the other prisoners—if you are certain you are up to it.”

“Couldn’t be better,” Napoleon insisted.

Satisfied, Illya nodded. 

They spared a bit of time to help the other prisoners (most of them independent scientists and THRUSH defectors rather than U.N.C.L.E. agents like Napoleon), after which Illya was insistent that Napoleon get some proper nutrition; they headed to U.N.C.L.E. HQ for Napoleon to change and for them to grab a quick supper at the commissary. They then quickly met with Waverly, who noted that it was good to see Napoleon back, and that he could take a few days’ rest before coming back to work. Napoleon nodded and opted to take him up on the offer, but denying that he needed to see Medical. Waverly knew better than trying to coax either of the two partners into seeing Medical, and so, he let the matter drop, trusting Illya to look after Napoleon.

The two partners made it home to the apartment soon after, and Baba Yaga the Egyptian Mau greeted the two of them warmly—Napoleon especially, as she hadn’t seen him in two weeks.

“I see you snuck her back home,” Napoleon said, gathering the cat in his arms. Baba Yaga purred in response, pleased.

“ _Da_ ,” Illya said, through a loud yawn. “She has been worried about you, too; it made sense for us to worry together.”

Napoleon chuckled slightly and cooed to the cat for a while before setting her down on her basket and changing to his purple silk pajamas.

Illya was already in bed in his blue pajamas, and Napoleon took a moment to enjoy the feeling as he relaxed in the familiar comfort of their bed at last.

“You know, _Tovarisch_ , I haven’t properly thanked you for rescuing me. Even if THRUSH wasn’t doing anything to me, it wasn’t fun being cooped up in that cell. So, I’d like to show you my appreciation…”

Napoleon trailed off as the response he got from his partner was a drawn-out snore, and he suddenly realized that this was Illya’s first night sleeping soundly, too—not just his. He managed a wan smile.

“…Tomorrow then,” Napoleon sighed, good-naturedly.

He wrapped his arms around his partner and fell asleep soon after that, as well.

**************************

Initially, Illya hadn’t thought much of finding that Napoleon wasn’t in the apartment the next morning; Napoleon often ducked out early if he found that they needed some groceries, or if he was in the mood for a jog—and, more than likely, after being cooped up for two whole weeks, Napoleon was pretty much expected to be stir crazy and would have welcomed the chance to exercise his restless legs by taking a run in Central Park. And so, Illya was mostly unconcerned about Napoleon’s absence in the apartment as he read the morning paper and drank his morning tea, repeatedly shaking off the insistent nagging voice that always seemed to accompany a recent rescue.

He clicked his tongue as he read a report about another monster sighting in Midtown Manhattan—a bipedal, black-furred creature known as the Beast of Broadway, as the papers had called it since the sightings had begun—also around two weeks ago. But Illya had been so preoccupied with finding Napoleon, he hadn’t bothered to pay any attention to the wild claims. Now that he had the opportunity to relax, he proceeded to read about the sightings and scoff at them.

“Beast of Broadway,” he muttered to Baba Yaga, who was loafing on the coffee table. “More like Beast of Bourbon. Or something else they have been drinking…”

He trailed off as Napoleon suddenly ran into the apartment, slamming the door behind him, gasping for breath. His face was very red, as though he had run all the way here, but what concerned Illya most was that his partner was still dressed in his purple silk pajamas—or, rather, what was _left_ of them, as they were now in tatters around Napoleon’s frame. Napoleon had, clearly, tied a some of the strips of cloth from his shirt and pant cuffs around his waist to help preserve his dignity on the way back to the apartment. 

“What happened to you!?” Illya asked, as Baba Yaga stood up and meowed in concern. “Were you mugged!? And _why_ were you out and about in your pajamas!?”

“I don’t know,” Napoleon said, shaking his head in utter befuddlement. “I think I must have been sleepwalking. Do you have any idea what time I left?”

“I felt you getting out of bed around 4—I thought you wanted to get an early start to the day for whatever reason, so I went back to sleep.”

“When Waverly gave me the day off after my rescue from THRUSH? I was planning to stay in and see if I could have breakfast in bed,” Napoleon muttered. “ _Sleepwalking_. I haven’t done that since I was five!”

“Yes, I remember Mother saying she used to tie your foot to the bed…” Illya mused, referring to Napoleon’s mother—and for all intents and purposes, Illya’s mother-in-law.

“…She told you that!?”

“She tells me everything,” Illya replied, without missing a beat. “At least you had the foresight to take the apartment key before you sleepwalked out the door. Though it’s not at all uncommon for people to take their keys and even drive whilst asleep. Hmm… perhaps I should take a leaf out of Mother’s book and start tying you to the bed again… for your own safety, of course.”

“Oh, thanks a lot.”

“In all seriousness, I don’t want you wandering around or driving around Manhattan traffic,” Illya said. “Something has already happened to you. Do you remember anything?”

“Nope,” Napoleon groaned. “Woke up somewhere on 42nd Street. I must have come across as a very bizarre vagrant in tattered silk pajamas…” He winced and looked at what remained of them. “These were _imported_ …!”

“Be grateful that nothing worse happened,” Illya said. “Where did they hurt you?”

“Well… Right around…” Napoleon trailed off, looking at his skin that was visible among the tatters. “Um… nowhere.”

“What?”

“There isn’t a mark on me,” Napoleon said, trying to get a look at his back. “I’m not hurting anywhere, either.”

“Well, your pajamas didn’t just rip themselves!” Illya scoffed. “ _Someone_ did that!”

“I’ll figure that out later,” Napoleon muttered. “Right now, I just want to change and get something to eat.”

Illya murmured a sound of assent, and continued reading the article about the Beast of Broadway as Napoleon moved to leave the room—and then spat out a mouthful of tea, causing Napoleon to stop.

“What?” Napoleon asked.

“…Nothing,” Illya lied.

“…Give me the paper.”

“ _Nyet_!”

“Give. Me. The. Paper.”

They wrestled for it; more strips of purple silk went flying and Baba Yaga watched in concern as, finally, Napoleon tore off the page that Illya had been trying to conceal.

“Beast of Broadway?” he asked.

“Sightings have been going on for two weeks—must be drunkards,” Illya said hastily. “You can give that back--” He cringed as Napoleon paled upon reading what Illya had read moments ago.

“…‘The black-furred Beast was spotted early this morning on 42nd Street, wearing the remains of what seemed like purple silk…’ …Oh, God, no…”

“Napoleon…” Illya said, getting up and gently grabbing him by the shoulders. “Napoleon, I am certain there is an explanation for this--”

“Of course there is—I’m turning into a were-beast!” he practically yelled. “Illya, what am I gonna do!? What--!?”

“First, _Dorogoy_ , you must remain calm,” Illya whispered, now placing his hands on Napoleon’s face. He could feel Napoleon tremble.

“How am I supposed to remain calm!?” Napoleon asked, his voice cracking. “How are _you_ staying so calm when I could transform again right here and attack you!?”

“Because I love you, and I have the utmost faith in you,” Illya said, gently kissing him. “Whatever is happening, we are going to get to the bottom of this. Trust me. And trust yourself, as I trust you. Now, breathe with me.”

He held Napoleon close, inhaling and exhaling. Napoleon matched his breathing, and Illya could feel him calm down as his shaking subsided.

“Thank you,” Napoleon whispered. “But what happens now?”

“Now, you will change and we will have Medical take a look at you. We won’t tell them anything; we’ll just say we want them to see if there is anything out of the ordinary.”

“R-Right…”

“And then,” Illya continued. “We will find out exactly what happened while you were a prisoner of THRUSH. These Beast of Broadway sightings started just after they had captured you. It could be that, rather than interrogate you, they experimented on you instead. But whatever it is they have done, we will find a way to reverse it. You are the love of my life, Napoleon. Believe me—I _will_ find a way.”

Napoleon swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

If anyone could figure this out, it would be his loyal Illya. Of that, he had the utmost faith.


	2. Act II: Both a Little Scared

Illya forced himself along inside Medical as Napoleon underwent blood tests. He hadn’t revealed the nature of their concerns, only that he wanted an analysis on account of Napoleon “having had trouble sleeping,” and nothing more. Having worked in Section VIII, Illya did the analysis personally as Napoleon watched over his shoulder, nervously.

“What’s wrong with me…?” he asked.

Illya exhaled as he looked over the results.

“I do not know exactly what was given to you, but it is clear to me that you have been drugged,” he announced.

“What!?”

“I do not have a proper sample of whatever it was that was given to you—it has metabolized, but there are still traces of it,” Illya said. “Obviously, part of its function is to prevent your recollection of the drug being administered, as well as what occurs during your transformation.”

“And what is it that actually gets me to transform?” Napoleon asked.

“It would seem that the traces of the drug suggest that it reacts with adrenaline in your system,” Illya said. “The drug is injected, and stays dormant until your adrenaline spikes; the ensuing reaction causes the transformation until the adrenaline levels reduce again—after which, you would immediately fall asleep due to exhaustion. Obviously, THRUSH was keeping a close eye on your during your excursions; once you returned to your human self, they would bring you back, put you in a new THRUSH prisoner uniform, and you would be unaware that you had left your cell as a monster, leading you to think that they hadn’t touched you. When, in reality…” He indicated Napoleon’s sleeve, and they both watched as Napoleon rolled his shirtsleeve up. Illya took a look with a magnifying glass and exhaled. “See? Needle marks—barely visible. Some have already healed.”

“But it’s over now, right?” Napoleon asked.

“These multiple puncture wounds suggest that the drug needed to be repeatedly administered to you to keep the transformations going,” Illya said. “They must have given you one more dose before they fled and left the facility. But what puzzles me is what could have gotten your adrenaline to spike while you were sleeping?”

Napoleon cleared his throat, looking embarrassed.

“…Well, ah, you were… Sort of… Doing that really cute snore thing that you do sometimes, and…” He blushed slightly. “Well, ah… You were _really_ cute, okay, and I didn’t want to wake you, so I just… suffered internally.”

“…I see,” Illya said, keeping his expression neutral. “Well, that would explain it. But, at any rate, I want to believe that it is over.”

“…You _want_ to… Why? Is there a chance that it might not be?”

“Perhaps…” Illya said. “There could be a chance that, rather than simply being metabolized, the drug could have been stored somewhere in your body, such as in the liver or adipose tissue—in which case, if it were released, you could transform again if your adrenaline spiked.”

“That’s… not good,” Napoleon said.

“Not at all,” Illya agreed. “But in addition to finding an antidote to this drug, we also need to find out who in THRUSH is behind this, and why did they decide to do this? The transformation is only temporary; what would they hope to gain by spreading panic?”

“There’s… one other important thing we need to find out as soon as possible,” Napoleon added, his face going even more grim.

“What’s that?”

“…Did I actually hurt anyone—or worse?”

“Oh, Napoleon…”

“Maybe _that_ was what THRUSH wanted…” Napoleon said. “Confirm that someone got hurt by the Beast of Broadway, and then step forward with proof that I’m the Beast! Mr. Waverly would be forced to fire me—if not have me put away!”

“Napoleon!” Illya chided. “I refuse to even consider the idea that you have attacked anyone! I would need documented evidence—a police report of some kind, and even then, I would still remain skeptical!”

“…You’re the only one in the world who would…” Napoleon sighed. “And I’m grateful for that.”

“You would do the same for me.”

“Of course,” Napoleon said.

Illya nodded, and then sighed.

“I know you are concerned—so am I. And I gave you my word that I would help you. And I will. But I need to find out all I can about this drug first,” Illya said. “I need to run a few more tests on these traces. Why don’t you go to our office and relax? I will meet you there when I am finished.”

“And then what do we do?” Napoleon asked.

“Then, just to put your mind at ease, we will go over the incident reports about the Beast of Broadway—both here and with the New York Police. You will see that there have been no attacks, and that will help to quell that fear.”

“Actually, why don’t I look at the U.N.C.L.E. reports now?” Napoleon asked. “While you’re working on this?”

“I would rather we did so together,” Illya said. “…And we should do so at home. These reports won’t be classified; I can take them with us, and we can look over them there.” He paused, seeing the look on Napoleon’s face. “Why don’t you stay here with me, then? I know the work is boring, but I will keep you company.”

“No…” Napoleon said. “No, I’ll… I’ll be at our office for a while. Maybe I’ll just try to clear my mind and see if I can recall anything about what happened…”

Illya was beginning to regret suggesting Napoleon go to their office, but now that he had suggested it and Napoleon was wandering off, there wasn’t much he could do other than hope that Napoleon wouldn’t get too upset.

Napoleon was worried, even as he went up to their office and laid down on the couch, trying to recall. He concentrated, using some of the tactics taught in Survival School about retrieving repressed memories.

He could recall flashes of sights and sounds—faces and chatter, mostly in the THRUSH facility… But then…

Napoleon sat bolt upright as one flashing image was clearly of the top of the Majestic Theatre; he seemed to have been perched upon the marquee of _Fiddler on the Roof_ , if his point-of-view was accurate—and there were numerous people below on the sidewalk and street, gasping and pointing at him, as growls and roars issued from his throat as he seemingly leaped from the marquee, over the people below, and bounded off down the street towards Sardi’s restaurant.

“I can’t let that happen again,” he murmured, recalling what Illya had said about the possibility of it occurring if his adrenaline spiked.

He broke and returned to Medical, requesting sedatives; they refused, claiming that Section II agents were not to be administered sedatives except under emergency situations. Still too worried to think straight, Napoleon left a message for Illya that he was going home, and then proceeded to return to their apartment building—but knocked on the door of the apartment that belonged to one of the neighbors on their floor—Dr. Fisk. He had seen him in passing a couple times, but, since Napoleon usually went to Medical, hadn’t requested his services—until now.

He spun a tale to Dr. Fisk about an elevated heart rate that was concerning him and requested a mild sedative.

“I really should be issuing this with a prescription,” Fisk was saying, readying a syringe with a pale, pink liquid.  “But you’ve never asked this of me before, so I know it must be an emergency.  Are you certain about this, Mr. Solo?”

“Yeah.  Yeah, I am—it’s kind of important,” Napoleon said, realizing he was making an incredibly hasty and foolish decision, but was desperate to keep his adrenaline levels down to prevent another transformation.  He’d just ask for an extended leave from U.N.C.L.E. so that he wouldn’t be sedated on the job, he rationalized, as he rolled up his sleeve.  He exhaled as Dr. Fisk administered the drug.  “Thanks, Doc.  How much do I owe you?”

“No charge,” Fisk insisted.  “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Yeah,” Napoleon said, pulling his sleeve back down.  “Please, if Illya comes by asking about me, don’t tell him what I did.  He’d be furious and say I was stupid—and I probably am.”

“Of course,” Fisk said, and he nervously watched as Napoleon dashed out of the apartment, heading for the one he shared with Illya.

Fisk glanced at the carpet, where he knew the cold man from a few days ago had planted a listening device.  And, sure enough, his phone rang.

“Professor Gaston?” Fisk asked, flinching at the sound of the cold voice on the line.  “I did what you asked.  Please…  Just leave me alone, huh?  I could lose my license if this ever got out--”  He cringed.  “Yes, Professor Gaston.  I’m…  I’m aware that THRUSH could make me lose a whole lot more than that…”

***************************

Napoleon made it home and was on the couch petting Baba Yaga minutes before Illya stormed in.

“What were you thinking, running off by yourself like that!?” the Russian demanded.  “I am supposed to be _helping_ you--!”

“I know, I know,” Napoleon sighed.  “But you know Medical.  They wouldn’t give me anything to keep my adrenaline down, and I had to get home in case I transformed again.”

Illya sighed, sitting on the couch beside him.

“Well, I brought home the reports. I’ve skimmed though them already, and there are no reports of the Beast attacking anyone.”

“Right, right…”

“We can look over them in-depth now. And you should also try to remember what happened during your captivity.”

“I don’t really remember much—just being in a cell all the time…” Napoleon mused, closing his eyes. “…And one moment when I was the Beast—just a moment, though. I was on the roof of the Majestic, and I jumped from there to the street and ran towards Sardi’s.”

“…Then you _are_ able to partly resist the memory effects of the drug,” Illya said.  “Can you recall anything else?”

“Mmh,” Napoleon grunted in frustration.  “I’m trying to think…”

“Just let it return to you,” Illya said, calmly.  “Even if it is in bits and pieces—any little thing will be helpful.”

Napoleon concentrated, and then frowned.

“Pictures…”

“Hmm?”

“I remember being shown pictures,” Napoleon recalled.  “A man showed them to me…  He wore a lab coat.”

“Do you recognize him?” Illya asked.

“No,” Napoleon said.  “But I think I remember one of the lab assistants calling him ‘Professor Gaston.’  They gave him pictures for me to see.”

“Do you remember what those pictures were?” Illya asked.

Napoleon tried to recall them, but shook his head.

“…No idea.  …Wait!”

“You remember?”

“Some of them!” Napoleon said.  “They showed me… centerfolds, at first.”

Illya gave a snort of disgust and then rolled his eyes.

“No, I’m serious,” Napoleon said.  “They tried to show me centerfolds—I guess to get my adrenaline up?  But it didn’t work.”

“…Didn’t work?”

“Nope.  I remember that Professor Gaston saying that I wasn’t responding to the models, and they had to try another approach.”  He looked at Illya and smiled.  “Guess some members of THRUSH still haven’t got the message that women don’t catch my eye anymore since I’ve been in a relationship…”

“Well, I am very happy to hear that I am successfully satisfying your romantic needs,” Illya said, smiling back. But his smile faded. “But something did trigger your adrenaline to spike—they eventually showed something that did affect you. Do you recall what it was?”

Napoleon concentrated again, and his face fell.

“…They eventually did get the message…” he recalled.

“…They showed you pictures of me…” Illya realized.  “Oh, Napoleon…”

“Not just pictures of you… Filmstrips, too—of them torturing you…” Napoleon’s breathing rate increased, and Illya’s face paled.

“Napoleon--!” he said, urgently, but was cut off.

“There was even one…” Napoleon said, clenching his fists as Baba Yaga fled from his lap to the coffee table, concerned again.  “Of them putting you in a coffin…  I… I just… couldn’t…”  He trailed off, his words disappearing into an animalistic snarl.

“ _Nyet_!  Napoleon, listen to me!  Stay calm—you simply _must_ stay calm!  It’s happening again—the substance hasn’t completely metabolized!”

“Illya…  Help me…”

Illya responded by hugging Napoleon, hoping his touch would be enough to calm him.  He could feel his partner shake violently once again.  Illya wasn’t a praying man, but now, he was begging for some sort of miracle. Thankfully, after a moment, it subsided as Napoleon calmed down.

“That was too close,” Illya said, still hugging his partner close. “We shall need to be careful as we figure this out.”

Napoleon managed a shaky nod. “Th-thanks,” he stammered.

He could, at least, be grateful that he wasn’t in this alone.


	3. Act III: Neither One Prepared

Illya was still attempting to keep Napoleon calm, and Napoleon, for his part, was trying to stay calm, wondering with concern as to why the sedative from Dr. Fisk wasn’t working. He would have to see him again—somehow, without letting Illya know what he had done, for he knew he wouldn’t hear the end of it.

At any rate, Illya was helping him; he would focus on that now.

“Are you feeling calmer?” the Russian asked him.

Napoleon gave a shaky nod.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m ready to read those reports about me—well, the Beast, that is.” He gave a wry chuckle. “Interesting, isn’t it?”

“What is?” Illya asked.

“I’ve sort of pulled a twist on the old fairy tale,” Napoleon said, looking at his partner with a wan smile. “This time, the Beauty is the Beast.”

“You needn’t attempt to cover up your fears with levity,” Illya said, softly. “I know you are concerned and afraid—and you have every reason to be. But also know that I am here for you.”

“I never had any doubt about that,” Napoleon promised.

Satisfied, Illya began to go over the sightings reports with him.

“These aren’t really that comprehensive,” Illya said. “They are mainly tracking your movements. It is odd that you do not seem to wander outside Midtown Manhattan. I wonder why…”

Napoleon bit his lip.

“During that flash of memory I had, I seemed to be looking for something; I guess that was why I was on top of the Majestic’s marquee—I was trying to get a better look at what I was searching for. I must have seen it near Sardi’s.”

Illya paused.

“I was near Sardi’s about ten days ago,” he recalled. “I was meeting with a contact who I’d been hoping would have some information on where to find you. I remember there being a large crowd, which, of course, I detested, so I contacted the contact and asked for us to meet elsewhere…” He facepalmed. “The crowd must have been the same one looking at you! How did I not notice you on the marquee down the street!?”

“I don’t know, but I must’ve noticed you; that must’ve been why I bounded off like that down the street—trying to catch up to you,” Napoleon said. He drew an arm around Illya. “You were worried about me, so you probably weren’t paying attention. I mean, you had no way of knowing that there was a lumbering Beast following you—or that the Beast was the one you were looking for.”

“But why did you not catch up with me?”

“I don’t remember that—not yet,” Napoleon said. “I guess you must’ve gotten into a cab, or I lost you in the crowd.”

“So…” Illya mused. “You saw me on 44th Street, and that must have been why you kept coming back to the Theatre District when you transformed—that was where you remembered seeing me last. But that doesn’t explain what happened last night—when you transformed, it would have been here—in the flat. I was here—why would you go looking for me in the Theatre District if I was right here in front of you?”

Napoleon pondered this.

“…I don’t know,” he said, at last. “Something must have persuaded me to go back Midtown, but what…?”

“Until your memory returns, there’s no way of knowing,” Illya said. “But, if you are up to it, we can go Midtown now. Perhaps walking around there will bring your memory back—but you _must_ stay calm. We will go if you can manage that.”

Napoleon nodded.

“Yeah, now that I know what’s causing this, I’ll just keep doing the deep breathing…” he sighed. “But, ah, while we’re there, I would like to look at the police reports—just to make sure that I didn’t hurt anyone.”

“I am certain you didn’t,” Illya said again. “Our reports would have mentioned it if you had. But if it will satisfy you, we can go to the Midtown precincts and see their reports—again, only if you will remain calm. …Not that I think we will find something for you to fret and worry about, of course.”

Napoleon nodded, grabbing his suitjacket, and he and Illya headed Midtown. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary; they even swung by Sardi’s and the Majestic, and even the marquee seemed undamaged.

“You are a very mindful Beast—much as you always are when human,” Illya noted. “Is anything else coming back to you?”

Napoleon sniffed the air, trying to depend on scent-induced memory recall.

“Gasoline…” he murmured. “It wasn’t in this spot, but I remember the smell of gasoline elsewhere—a few streets down… And I remember seeing car’s headlights… …Sorry, I know that doesn’t narrow it down.”

“Keep thinking,” Illya instructed.

They moved on to the nearest police precinct, presenting their badges and requesting information on the Beast of Broadway sightings on the pretext of being on assignment.

“Not really much to these reports,” the desk sergeant said. “Mainly just sightings of where the Beast has been seen. A couple of our officers have seen it; some gave chase, but that thing is fast.”

“And you saw no need to send a task force after it?” Napoleon asked.

“Well, no,” the sergeant said, shrugging. “If you’ll look through those reports, you’ll see why.”

“I take it that means that the Beast never does anything?” Illya asked, smugly.

“No, that’s not it at all,” the sergeant replied. “A couple of those reports are worth reading, actually… That one—right there. A young lady filed a report against a mugger in an alley near here—and then added her report to the Beast sightings.”

“The Beast was the one who mugged her!?” Napoleon exclaimed, trying not to panic.

“No, Napoleon!” Illya exclaimed. “Look! She claims the Beast showed up and scared the mugger off—even handed back her purse before bounding off!”

“… _Huh_?” Napoleon asked.

“We’re all baffled,” the sergeant said, not noticing that Napoleon was so emotionally invested in this. “But yeah, those few ‘interesting’ reports are reports of the Beast stopping crimes all around Midtown Manhattan. On the one hand, it’s nice to have any help we can get, but, on the other hand, of course, it is a little embarrassing for us.”

“And so the decision was made not to capture the Beast because of the help?” Illya asked.

“No; at first we still wanted to—to discourage vigilante behavior,” the sergeant sighed. “But then something happened that made us realize that there were some things this Beast could do that we couldn’t.”

“…What happened?” Napoleon asked.

“That report there,” the sergeant said, indicating one. “Taxi cab had a brake failure—nearly ran a kid over, but the Beast jumped into the middle of the street, grabbed the kid in the nick of time and jumped again—landed first on the hood of the cab, which knocked out the engine, stopping it, and then the Beast jumped to the sidewalk and let the kid down. Then, it ran off before we could grasp what had just happened—took ten seconds for the whole thing to take place.”

Napoleon and Illya both blinked, and then exchanged glances.

“That explains the gasoline and headlights…” Illya said, and Napoleon responded with a shaky nod.

“And the cab driver,” Napoleon added. “Is he okay?”

“Oh, he’s fine—he’s just relieved the kid didn’t get hurt,” the sergeant said. “The kid had the time of his life—said he couldn’t wait to tell his friends at school that he was rescued by the Beast. But, anyway, you see why it was impossible for us to try to hunt the beast down like a zoo escapee after that? The public would never have gone for that, so we had to let this thing keep on doing whatever it was doing.”

“Well, this certainly was an eye-opening experience,” Illya commented. “Wouldn’t you say so, Napoleon.”

“Ah… Yes, I guess so,” he said.

They both thanked the sergeant and left the precinct, going through the network of alleys to search for any signs of THRUSH activity.

“Well,” Illya said, smugly. “Are you satisfied, Napoleon?”

“Actually… I think I am,” Napoleon mused, actually smiling. “It worked out amazingly—not only did I not go on a monstrous rampage like THRUSH was hoping for, it’s let me do my job of helping innocent people even better than before.”

Illya’s nodded.

“But while that is true, we do want to stop your transformations from occurring ever again. While you have superhuman strength as the Beast, you were meant to be human, and I prefer you that way.”

“Oh, believe me, I prefer me that way, too,” Napoleon assured him. “I like having this face when I work; people tend to trust it more than the Beast’s. …And besides, when I’m human, it means I can cuddle up with you at night--”

“Your adrenaline,” Illya reminded him, and Napoleon reigned himself in before his mind went any further down that path. “Oh, Napoleon, do you realize that until this is resolved, we cannot…?”

“…You’re right; we’ve got to figure out a way to stop these transformations,” Napoleon sighed, dreading the thought of having to sleep in another room until it was resolved. “I can’t live like this!”

“Nor can I; I suffer, too, living like this,” Illya added. “But at least we have removed this load off of your mind. Now, I need to focus on making an antidote. I do not have enough of a sample to make one, so we need to find this Professor Gaston and get a sample so I can--”

“Look out!” Napoleon yelled.

Illya saw the red laser appear on his black turtleneck just as Napoleon called out to him; his partner tackled him to the alley floor, and the shot missed him by inches. Napoleon swore, drew his Special, and fired back at their assailants.

“Napoleon, you must stay calm!” Illya instructed.

“Considering we’re under fire, I’m staying _exceptionally_ calm!” he countered.

Illya drew his Special now, also firing back at the THRUSHies.

“If we can take one of them, he might be able to tell us where Professor Gaston is!” he said. “I think we…” He trailed off, seeing Napoleon shaking involuntarily as he tried to fire back. “Napoleon!” he frantically exclaimed.

But it was already too late; he knew that the shootout would have been the trigger to spike Napoleon’s adrenaline—exactly as THRUSH had intended. As Illya continued to look back at Napoleon, whose eyes were glazing over as perspiration poured down his face, right before Illya’s eyes, the metamorphosis took place.

Napoleon’s body grew as his musculature increased; the suit he was wearing tore to reveal the skin beneath covered with black fur. The fur covered his face soon, his features changing to slightly vulpine ones as he sniffed the air and growled, glaring at the direction of the THRUSH snipers.

“Oh, Napoleon…” Illya said, despairing.

He could only hope that the transformation would not last too long. But soon, a new worry appeared in the form of a THRUSH helicopter—bearing a large net.

“Napoleon, run!” Illya ordered. “They’ve come for you—look!”

Napoleon turned his face to the helicopter and roared at it. And then, without waiting for them to make a move, gently picked up Illya and placed him across his shoulder, and leaped up, using the walls of the two adjacent buildings near them in the alley to gain more height with each jump, finally landing on the roof of one, and then took off across the rooftops, still carrying Illya over his shoulder.

The Russian took a moment to come to grips with the situation; after realizing that, as the Beast, Napoleon was very sure-footed with these jumps, Illya proceeded to fire at the pursuing THRUSH agents. After one of the helicopter crew was tranquilized, the helicopter pulled away from them, and the snipers that had been firing on them before had gone back into hiding, not willing to show themselves.

But Napoleon didn’t slow down; Illya suspected that he wouldn’t be able to while the adrenaline rush was still going on in his body, and so it would be up to Illya to try to calm him.

He gently rubbed Napoleon’s back before realizing that this would probably have the opposite effect, and instead just spoke to him calmly. It didn’t seem to be having much of an effect, though, and they continued down past Midtown and into Lower Manhattan. Civilians stared, pointing at the building tops as Napoleon continued to leap from roof to roof.

Finally, they reached the top of their apartment building; Napoleon seemed to recognize it as home, as he gently placed Illya down and then went to look over the edge of the building to make sure that they had not been followed. He seemed satisfied and then returned to Illya’s side, making soft, almost inquisitive sounds.

Illya blinked, but soon realized what he was doing.

“ _Da_ , Napoleon; I am fine,” he assured him. “Now, breathe with me again. Please.”

It took a bit of time, but Napoleon was soon able to match Illya’s breaths again. And, slowly, his musculature reduced again, the fur disappeared, and the vulpine features of his face reverted back to human as he fell over, exhausted.

“Napoleon?” Illya asked, helping him cover up as he helped him up. “Are you alright, _Dorogoy_?”

“I… Yeah,” Napoleon said, still tired. “But… Illya, I just… I just King Konged you!”

“You did it to protect me from THRUSH,” Illya reminded him. He blinked. “You mean you remember that?”

“Yeah… I remember everything this time. I didn’t even know I could move like that…”

“Well, I am glad that you are able to remember and that you did move like that; you got us out of that THRUSH trap,” Illya said, sighing as he glanced at his partner. “But now… We have to find a way to stop this before it happens again.”


	4. Act IV: Learning You Were Wrong

After getting him inside and making sure Napoleon was otherwise alright, Illya was on the phone to U.N.C.L.E., informing them of the THRUSH sneak attack Midtown—while omitting the details of Napoleon’s transformation, of course. Napoleon, who had now changed once again while bemoaning another set of shredded clothes, took a look at him to make sure that Illya was focused on the call before slipping out into the corridor and heading to Dr. Fisk’s apartment a few doors down.

He knocked on the door, not even noticing Baba Yaga slipping out the door, as well, following him silently as Dr. Fisk opened the door.

“Mr. Solo?” Fisk asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes,” Napoleon said, trying to stay calm. “Whatever you gave me to calm me down didn’t work—at all. I guess I must be resistant to it.”

“Oh dear. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Do you have anything stronger you can give me?” Napoleon asked.

“Mr. Solo, please don’t make me do that,” Fisk said. “I could get in deep trouble as it is, giving you that first dose without a prescription.”

“I _need_ something stronger,” Napoleon said, through gritted teeth, still not noticing Baba Yaga, whose tail was lashing as she stared at Fisk. “ _Please_! Before Illya finds out! I can’t explain it now, but it’s absolutely vital--”

“Alright, alright—but this is _absolutely_ the last time,” Fisk said. “Do I make myself clear?”

“As crystal,” Napoleon responded, pushing past him and rolling up his sleeve again as Fisk now went for a syringe with red liquid in it.

But just as he injected the syringe into Napoleon’s arm, the both of them gave a start as Baba Yaga screeched in fury, leaping at the doctor and clawing and biting at his arm.

“Baba Yaga!” Napoleon chided, pulling the empty syringe out of his arm himself. “What’s gotten into you!?”

He collected the hissing and spitting Mau as she swiped an angry paw towards Fisk, tense with rage.

“I’m sorry,” Napoleon offered. “I guess she thought you had some ill intentions with that needle; she’s really protective of Illya and me…” He blinked as Baba Yaga hissed again, her ears flattened back as she glared at Fisk. “Easy, my dear, easy… I’m alright…” He looked back at Dr. Fisk and shrugged.

“That’s… fine…” Fisk said. “No charge for this, either; just don’t come back here again, okay?”

“Okay,” Napoleon promised, and he carried the still-agitated cat out.

Fisk watched them go, regretting what he had been forced to do by Gaston once again. If Gaston was right about the modified serum, then Napoleon Solo would never be coming back again—not as a human, at any rate.

Napoleon, of course, was blissfully unaware of what was coursing through his bloodstream, instead focusing on the bizarre behavior of the cat, who was still agitated and yowling as he brought her back inside the apartment he shared with Illya.

“Where did you go!?” Illya demanded.

“Baba Yaga’s upset about something,” Napoleon said, ducking the question entirely as he handed her off to Illya.

This did, temporarily, distract the Russian as he attempted to soothe the Egyptian Mau, who could not be consoled.

“Perhaps she has sensed your biorhythms are off and is worried,” he suggested.

“Yeah, that must be it,” Napoleon said. He sat down on the couch, frowning. If the sedative was stronger, shouldn’t he have begun to feel the effects already?

“I have instructed U.N.C.L.E. to be on the lookout for THRUSH activity Midtown,” Illya said. “However, there is every chance in the world that THRUSH might come here looking for you. We should go to Headquarters, Napoleon. You’ll be safe there, and perhaps the sense of security will prevent any further transformations…” He trailed off. “Are you alright, Napoleon?”

“Hmm? Yeah, I’m fine.”

Illya wasn’t convinced, but Baba Yaga continued to attempt to break free, distracting him again. Puzzled and concerned, Illya placed her on the ground, and she ran to the apartment door, clawing at it as if she wanted to get out.

“…Odd…” Illya said. “I have only ever seen her act like this once before.”

“When was that?” Napoleon asked.

“When that jealous lab technician poisoned me,” Illya recalled. “She was absolutely furious and knew who he was by scent alone; she was trying to track him down…” He trailed off again, turning back to Napoleon.

“…You know what? I remember that, too,” Napoleon said, realizing that Illya was beginning to get wise to what he had done. “I think--”

“Napoleon, has anyone given you anything in the last 24 hours?”

“…OK, look, I know it wasn’t the smartest thing to do--” Napoleon sighed as Illya facepalmed. “Look, I was desperate, okay? I’m trying not to transform again, so I went to Dr. Fisk down the hall to give me some sedatives--”

“You _what_!?” Illya exclaimed.

“Well, I had to do _something_ to keep my adrenaline down! It didn’t work, so I just got another dose of something stronger, but it hasn’t kicked in yet…”

Illya stared at him.

“You _blockhead_!” Illya exclaimed. “Of all the doctors in New York, you would go to Fisk!?”

“Well, he lives right down the hall, and he hasn’t done anything to warrant our suspicions--”

“And do you not think that THRUSH hasn’t figured that out—that they’ve been keeping him under surveillance all this time and waiting for the opportunity to use him against us the moment one of us got desperate!?” Illya said. “I will tell you why Fisk’s ‘sedatives’ aren’t working on you, Napoleon—I will stake my life on the fact that they are not sedatives at all, but the drug that is causing your transformations!”

Napoleon just stared at his partner, stunned.

Baba Yaga screeched loudly again, still clawing at the door. Illya grabbed his Special and motioned for Napoleon to follow. Shaken, Napoleon did so, also taking his Special. The moment Illya opened the door, Baba Yaga ran out like a blur of motion, stopping outside Fisk’s apartment and clawing angrily at the door.

Fisk, unsure of what the sound was, had opened the door, and, without so much as a greeting, Illya shot him with a tranquilizer and forced the door open.

Baba Yaga rushed in and started clawing at the fallen doctor.

“What did it look like?” Illya asked, going over the vials and syringes on the table and counter.

“That was what he gave me just now—that red one,” Napoleon said. “That’s the syringe he used on me right beside it—didn’t have time to throw it out yet.”

“He used a different one before?”

“Yeah, a bright pink one…” Napoleon said. “That’s it, there—I’d recognize it anywhere. There isn’t anything else like it.”

Illya pocketed both of the bottles, and then unceremoniously dragged Fisk out the door, with Baba Yaga still attempting to use him as a scratching post.

Napoleon exhaled, trying to get a grip on himself.

“Illya…” he said, quietly. He gave the Russian a sheepish look as he looked back at him. “Illya, I’m sorry. I was incredibly stupid.”

Illya’s expression softened.

“I know. You are under tremendous strain, and I cannot imagine what you must be going through. You panicked, as was natural for the situation. But, in future, do not try to hide things from me, especially when you know that I love you and have your best interests at heart.” He gently touched Napoleon’s cheek. “Now, please, stay calm. I will take you and Baba Yaga to Headquarters, and I want the two of you to relax while I interrogate Fisk.”

Baba Yaga stopped attacking Fisk and murorwed at Illya.

“That’s right, I need you to use your wonderful purring to keep your father calm. Can I count on you?”

Baba Yaga now rubbed up against Napoleon, prompting him to carry her again. She did, indeed, begin to purr as Napoleon carried her out, and as Illya resumed dragging Fisk behind them.

*********************************

Illya had made sure that Napoleon and Baba Yaga were relaxing before he analyzed the two vials of drug and then went to the interrogation room. Illya waited as Fisk stirred and slowly came awake in the interrogation room; Fisk took a moment to get his bearings, and then let out a gasp of horror as he saw Illya standing there, the rage evident in his eyes.

“M-Mr. Kuryakin!?” he stammered. “What happened!? Where are we!?”

“You are in the interrogation room of U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters,” Illya said, coldly. “You have been arrested for inflicting grievous bodily harm on an U.N.C.L.E. agent.”

“I did no such thing, Mr. Kuryakin!”

“Then why did you poison my partner?” Illya quipped back.

“It wasn’t poison!” Fisk insisted. “It…” He trailed off, catching himself.

“Then, what was it?” Illya asked.

“Sedatives,” Fisk lied. “Your partner came to me asking for sedatives, and so I gave him two different kinds.”

“He came to you for sedatives, but you did not give him sedatives,” Illya hissed, placing the results of both analyses on the table in front of Fisk. “These drugs were designed to react with adrenaline, not calm the body.”

Fisk paled.

“Now, you will tell me everything,” Illya insisted.

“I… I can’t…” Fisk said. “He will kill me.”

“Who?”

Fisk shook his head.

“Let me guess,” Illya said. “Gaston of THRUSH?”

Fisk cringed.

“I will take that as a ‘yes.’ What did Gaston want with you—with Napoleon?” Illya asked.

“If I tell you, he will kill me!” Fisk cried.

“Do you know something, Doctor Fisk? I, too, am a doctor—twice over; I have a PhD in quantum mechanics—the study of atoms and subatomic particles, and I have a degree in pathology. See, in addition to being a field agent, I also perform autopsies for this organization.” Illya leaned across the table, bringing his face an inch from Fisk’s. “So, unless you wish to have the atoms of your deepest internal organs exposed to daylight on my autopsy table, it would be in your best interest to talk.”

“You wouldn’t--!”

“Napoleon is the merciful one, not me. And after you went along with Gaston to help turn him into the Beast of Broadway, I can honestly tell you that the Beast you helped Gaston unleash is _nothing_ compared to the beast you have unleashed right in front of you.” He raised a hand to Fisk’s throat. “ _Talk_.”

“Okay, okay—I’ll talk!” Fisk squeaked. “Gaston showed up a few days ago at my apartment—said he needed me to administer that pink vial to Napoleon Solo if he ever came by my apartment asking for sedatives. I didn’t think it would ever happen; Mr. Solo had never come to me for anything, but, lo and behold—he did this morning, and so I did exactly what Gaston ordered me to.”

“And the other vial?”

“After I reported the first ‘success,’ Gaston had that sent over—said that Mr. Solo would be running in to get more sedatives after the first ‘dose’ failed. I didn’t want to do it, Mr. Kuryakin, but--”

“But, nevertheless, you did,” Illya said, coldly. “You threw a noble man—a far better man than you--under the bus just to save your own cowardly skin when you could have come to us first! We would have helped you against THRUSH!”

Fisk flinched.

“I thought about it,” he confessed. “But Gaston seemed to have tabs on me—he knew where I’d been and what I’d done in the last week. I had to obey him; I was afraid for my life, Mr. Kuryakin!”

“And now I am afraid for my partner’s life; you have no sympathy from me,” Illya spat back. “Did you know what the drugs did?”

“Gaston said that the pink one would temporarily turn Mr. Solo into the Beast,” Fisk confessed. “They’d tested it extensively, he said, and needed him to have one more dose before they perfected the red one so that he would be desperate to take the red one. Gaston was right—again; Mr. Solo just showed up to get a stronger sedative, and so I did just what Gaston ordered, and gave him the red one.”

“And what’s the red one?”

Fisk looked away.

“Gaston said it was a perfected, self-sustaining version of the pink version—as you know, the pink version metabolizes in the body after the adrenaline spike, but this new red one will continue to synthesize itself from the products of the reaction even after the adrenaline spikes.” He looked up apologetically at Illya as the Russian’s face paled. “If Mr. Solo transforms again, this time, it will be permanent.”


	5. Act V: As the Sun Will Rise

Illya had practically dashed back to the office he shared with Napoleon as though a pack of wolves had been after him. He paused to catch his breath as he saw Napoleon reclined on the couch, still human, still petting the purring cat.

“How’d the interrogation go?” Napoleon asked. “Did Fisk talk?”

“ _Da_ …” Illya said, wondering how to break the news to him. “He did. And I have good news and bad news for you.”

“OK, what’s the good news?”

“I have enough of a sample of the drug to analyze it—and hopefully create and antidote from it.”

“That is _excellent_ news,” Napoleon said, grinning. “…But, ah, what’s the bad news, then?”

Illya pondered for a moment, and then sighed.

“Napoleon, I will tell you this because it is your right to know,” he said. “But you must not get excited or upset – anything that will set off an adrenaline spike. You must stay calm, and if you do not, I will tranquilize you.”

“…This doesn’t bode well…” Napoleon said, sitting up now. “I don’t get it; if you’ve got the means for an antidote, then why would it make a difference if I get into another transformation or not?”

“Because that new version of the drug that Fisk gave you, according to Gaston, is a permanent version—after it metabolizes with the adrenaline, it re-forms the drug in your system, so if you transform again, you won’t change back.”

Napoleon looked as though he’d run smack into a brick wall.

“I… Ah…”

“You must stay calm,” Illya instructed, gripping Napoleon’s shoulders. “I am serious about the tranquilizing--”

“I have no doubts about that,” Napoleon said. “In fact, I almost wish you’d just go ahead and do that.”

“Are you certain?” Illya asked.

“Why take chances?” Napoleon shrugged. “I mean, I’m already living ‘Beauty and the Beast.’ I might as well pull a ‘Sleeping Beauty,’ too. Wake me with a kiss once you’ve got the antidote…” He trailed off as he saw the look on Illya’s face. “What’s that face for? This was your idea…”

“It was, but I was thinking more along the lines of a last resort rather than an immediate plan,” Illya said. “You do not usually lie down and admit defeat.”

“Yeah, that was before I found out the next transformation would be permanent,” Napoleon said. “Changing temporarily is one thing. I don’t want to be the Beast forever. Everything I’ve worked for, fought for – including you… I’d lose it all in an instant if that happened.”

“Napoleon, I promise you, you will never lose me,” Illya insisted. “But if it is truly what you want, then I will give you a tranquilizer dart.”

“Yeah, I think that is what I…” Napoleon trailed off, the word triggering something in his memory. “Darts…”

“Napoleon?”

“Darts… Darts…” he murmured. “That’s important. Something about darts…” His eyes widened as a flash of memory returned to him. “Darts—that’s it!”

“Stay calm!” Illya reminded him again. “What’s this about darts?”

“Professor Gaston has some sort of contraption set up somewhere Midtown; he wants to use it against the people of New York by using darts loaded with the beast serum, and now that the formula is perfected, he can! That’s what I was looking for as the Beast—I was trying to take out that machine!”

“Do you know where exactly it is?”

“No, I never found it,” Napoleon said. “We have to look!”

“Ah, I beg to differ,” Illya said, gently pushing him down onto the sofa as Baba Yaga meowed in protest. “You are not to set foot outside of this building. THRUSH will be after you the moment you do. I will go look for it.”

Napoleon exhaled, but admitted that Illya had a point.

“I’d been looking around the Broadway theatres,” he said. “But I was getting nowhere—and when I saw you that night near the Majestic, I must have thought that we could work together, but you got in the cab, and I lost track of you.”

“I doubt there would be any sort of device in or on the theatres,” Illya said. “For a THRUSH plot like this, they would choose the darkest, most underground place they could find that would still have the most people—to maximize both the success and impact of their nefarious plans.”

The two partners looked at each other.

“Times Square,” they said, in unison.

“It’ll be on a rooftop somewhere,” Napoleon went on. “I remember that distinctly— _that’s_ why I was on the Majestic’s marquee!”

“Duly noted. You wait here for me,” Illya instructed him again, as he grabbed his Special from the desk drawer. “I won’t be going alone.”

“But be careful!” Napoleon called after him.

Illya responded with an assurance and left, and Napoleon sighed to himself as he sat around and waited.

He was remembering more and more—remembering Gaston’s frustrations that Napoleon couldn’t be controlled during his transformations, and that they had wanted him to be wild and dangerous so as to give him—and U.N.C.L.E.—a black eye. But with Napoleon still holding on to his heroic nature even when transformed and being received by the public as a hero, they had to change their plans—and decided on this plan to spread panic among the city by transforming random people into beasts.

An hour ticked by, and then another. And another. Napoleon was tempted to call Illya over Channel D, but didn’t want to distract him, or worse, alert THRUSH to his position with the communicator going off.

He was soon distracted, however, by his own office intercom going off.

“Solo,” he said, answering it.

“Mr. Solo?” Waverly’s voice came over the intercom speaker. “Report to my office immediately.”

That was it—brusque and no-nonsense. And Napoleon was aware of two very important things—that Waverly’s voice had an edge to it, and that he had summoned Napoleon there personally, rather than having Lisa page him over the intercom as he usually did. Based on prior experience, neither of those meant anything good.

He placed Baba Yaga on the couch and headed to Waverly’s office, where the Section I leader regarded Napoleon with a searching look.

“You wanted to see me, Sir?” Napoleon asked.

“Yes, Mr. Solo. I want you to tell me exactly what’s been going on.”

“Sir…?”

“I distinctly remember give both you and Mr. Kuryakin the weekend off. Instead, I find that you had a blood test in Medical this morning, that you and Mr. Kuryakin were waylaid by THRUSH in the afternoon, and this evening, you both came in with your neighbor as a prisoner, and Mr. Kuryakin interrogated him before running off three hours ago with Mr. Petros, saying they had to stop a THRUSH plot! Now, I ask you again, what exactly has been going on around here?”

“Well, Sir, you know how it is,” Napoleon said, with a shrug. “Just because you’ve given us the weekend off doesn’t mean that THRUSH does. And you know Illya and myself, Sir—we’re always ready to clean up THRUSH’s messes, whether or not we’re officially on duty.”

“Yes, I do know the two of you,” Waverly said, folding his arms. “I also know that, under normal circumstances, you and Mr. Kuryakin are inseparable unless I split you two apart on a mission.”

“…Ah.”

“Indeed, Mr. Solo. Now, I could call Mr. Kuryakin and ask him what is going on, but I would not like to interrupt him if he is in the middle of something. So, the blood test, the attack, the arrest, the interrogation, this sudden mission, and your lack of participation in it—what is the explanation?”

Napoleon sighed.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Sir.”

“Try me.”

Napoleon was about to when a piercing whistle filled the room; someone was reporting in.

“Open Channel D!”

Napoleon’s heart skipped a beat; it was Andreas Petros, and he sounded worried.

“Yes, Mr. Petros?” Waverly said.

“We destroyed THRUSH’s device, Sir, but as we were leaving, Gaston and his men captured Agent Kuryakin--”

“What!?” Napoleon exclaimed, and then forced himself to calm down.

“There are too many of them for me to free him--” Petros began, but Waverly cut him off as Illya’s communicator rang.

“Mr. Kuryakin?” he asked, hopefully.

“Afraid not,” said a voice who Napoleon recognized as Gaston’s. “Kuryakin is with us—and if you wish to ensure his safety, we demand that Napoleon Solo—and _only_ Napoleon Solo meet with us here at Times Square at sunrise—that’s in about one hour. If anyone else attempts to recover Kuryakin, or if Solo doesn’t arrive alone, Kuryakin will die.”

The transmission was cut off after that.

“Sir…?” Napoleon said. “Tell Andreas to come back; I’ll meet with them.”

“This is most certainly a trap, Mr. Solo. I really cannot allow--”

“With all due respect, Sir, this is my day off. And I will be approaching this problem purely as a civilian, so that nothing that happens will reflect upon U.N.C.L.E. in any way. …I, ah, suspect very strongly, Sir, that I will not be coming back, but I will do my best to see that Illya does.”

“I suspect that very strongly, too,” Waverly said, bluntly.

“And on the off chance that I do return, it will not be in a state that will allow me to properly continue my career as Number 1 of Section II—or as an U.N.C.L.E. agent of any rank,” Napoleon added, also bluntly. He took out his credentials, communicator, and Special, and placed them on Waverly’s desk; Waverly seemed surprised at this.

“Mr. Solo?” he asked, his tone of voice asking a dozen questions at once. “Exactly what are you intending to do?”

Napoleon averted his gaze for a moment before gathering his courage and looking Waverly right in the eyes.

“Rest assured, Sir, that I have no intentions of turning rogue. But it will be practically impossible to perform my duties as an agent after what THRUSH intends for me, even if I survive this,” he said. “It has been an honor working for this agency, Sir, and working with you.”

He left, much to the confusion and consternation of Waverly. He pondered for a moment before leaving his inner office.

“Miss Rogers?” he asked. “Arrange a meeting for me with the prisoner that Mr. Kuryakin and Mr. Solo brought in earlier this evening.”

***************************

Napoleon didn’t have trouble finding where Gaston was holding Illya; a crowd of onlookers of all kinds—good, bad, and ugly—were looking up at one of the buildings, and Illya was there, with Gaston and his men. Napoleon could overhear some police offers saying that there was a delicate hostage situation, but it did nothing to dissuade the crowd.

Napoleon managed to slip past them, into the building, and emerged onto the roof; he saw Illya’s eyes widen in horror.

“ _Nyet_! Napo--!”

A gag had been pulled around Illya’s mouth, and it took every bit of strength for Napoleon to stay calm.

“Let him go, Gaston,” he said, firmly. “I’m the one you want. Release Illya—that is what we agreed.”

“The agreement was that he would live,” Gaston quipped. “And so, he will live. I never once said anything about him being free.”

Gaston’s men blocked the entrance back into the building.

“Come stand beside your partner, Solo,” Gaston said. “I want you to be seen by everyone down there.”

Napoleon had known this was coming. He would have to stay calm—stay human as long as he possibly could. He sighed and stood in front of Illya, whose blue eyes were filled with sorrow.

“‘m sorry,” he said, muffled through the gag around his mouth.

Napoleon shook his head and gave him a wan smile.

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” he assured him. “And… You just remember that I love you, alright?”

Illya was struggling to remain stoic, but managed a small nod, but then flinched as he was struck with a billy club. Gaston’s other assistants now surrounded the Russian, silently and emotionlessly striking him. From below, the crowd gasped and shouted.

“Stop it!” Napoleon ordered.

“Oh, you know what will make it stop, Solo,” Gaston said. “There’s only one way. We aren’t going to stop; you’ll have to make us.”

Napoleon moved to pull Illya away, but two of Gaston’s men held him back, forcing him to watch as Illya’s beating continued. Napoleon had never felt this helpless—he had to stay human, but he couldn’t let Illya suffer…!

“…Do you care so little about your partner that his pain does not move you?” Gaston taunted. He was trying to get a rise out of Napoleon. “You’re just going to watch? Well, then, it’s clear to me that Kuryakin is no longer of any use to us.”

He snapped his fingers and four of Gaston’s flunkies held Illya’s limbs so that he couldn’t move—a fifth now approached the struggling Illya with a dagger.

“You said you wouldn’t kill him!” Napoleon snarled.

“I lied,” Gaston said. “What does it matter, anyway? It’s clear that you think so little of his life.”

He snapped his fingers, and the crony drew back the dagger. And Napoleon lost it.

As the transformation began, his strength grew rapidly, allowing him to break free of his captors; he then launched himself at the men holding Illya, swiping the man with the knife out of the way and then grabbing Illya in a protective hold as the transformation finished. As the Beast of Broadway once more, Napoleon let out a mighty roar that sent the THRUSHies scurrying back and earned him gasps from the crowd.

Napoleon ignored them all, using a claw to cut the gag from around Illya’s face. Illya just clung to him, unable to hide the sorrow in his voice.

“Oh, Napoleon…”

He trailed off as Gaston started clapping, standing on the edge of the rooftop, a few feet from them. His men didn’t look as thrilled; they all seemed to be eyeing the rooftop exit.

“Well done, Solo,” Gaston said. “You won the battle. But look at you, eh? Forever the Beast of Broadway? It would appear I have won the war.”

Napoleon bared his teeth, growling. He gently placed Illya down and now advanced on Gaston, and as Illya looked down at the crowd, and then at the smug look on Gaston’s face and at the gun in his hand, Illya put two and two together. Gaston had gone back to his original plan.

“Napoleon, don’t!” he ordered. “Don’t you see what he’s doing!? He’s trying to goad you into attacking him so that you’ll be classified as dangerous—he wants you to attack so that he’ll be justified in killing you—or have the city officials do it for him!”

Napoleon stopped in his tracks, but still growled.

“Even if you survive, what kind of future awaits you?” Gaston sneered back at him. “Do you think U.N.C.L.E. will keep you on their payroll like this? Don’t kid yourself; you know the truth. Everything you have strived for—your purpose in life—is now out of your grasp forever! You can no longer save innocents from THRUSH! You can’t stay in that cozy apartment of yours anymore, either—I understand that your landlady doesn’t allow animals! You’ll have to live alone off the land, like the Beast that you are—for that’s a face that not even a mother could love!”

Napoleon roared and the frightened flunkies stampeded into the building, abandoning Gaston, who didn’t seem to notice—Gaston grinned maddeningly at Napoleon, trying to egg him on further.

“Napoleon!” Illya cried, rushing forward to try to hold him back; it was a futile effort—as the Beast, Napoleon’s strength was several times Illya’s. “Please! You know that is not true—and no matter what anyone else may say or think, I will never leave your side. You know that!”

“Oh, sure, he won’t leave your side,” Gaston sneered. “But that’s all he can do, isn’t it? I know how you two are, Solo—or, in this case, _were_. He can’t be your partner anymore—and I mean that in any meaning of the word! Face it, Solo, I have taken _everything_ from you! You’ve got nothing left—except a chance at revenge! Come and get it!”

“ _Nyet_! Please!” Illya exclaimed, still holding onto Napoleon out of desperation as he roared furiously again. “He hasn’t taken everything from you—not yet! The Beast of Broadway is a beloved vigilante, remember? The people of New York still trust you—and you can still help them, but only if you prove to them that you are not controlled by primal rage! You may be the Beast of Broadway, but you are still Napoleon Solo—paragon of mercy, and that is what people need to know you as! I agree that Gaston needs to die—I have no hesitation in saying that. But you cannot be the one to do it! You cannot give him or anyone justification for killing you! Revenge is not worth that—especially when I still need you in my life! That can never change, no matter what has happened to you.” He felt a tear fall from his eye; Illya could count the number of times he had cried on one hand, and yet, he was letting a tear slip by him now. “We have each other, remember, Napoleon? I love you.”

Napoleon’s posture softened, and he turned away from Gaston to face Illya now hugged him. Napoleon gently hugged him back. It was a moment of bliss and relief—until the crowd below started screaming.

Illya saw why quickly; realizing that this plan had failed, as well, Gaston had raised the weapon, aiming to just kill Napoleon without any justification. Illya broke away from the embrace and rushed at Gaston in a flying tackle—the momentum of which sent them both off of the roof as onlookers screamed.

Napoleon leaped from the rooftop, grabbing onto a lamppost with one arm and grabbed the falling Illya’s leg with another, stopping his fall in midair. Illya took a moment to catch his breath before looking down at the still-screaming crowd. It was quite clear from their reaction that Gaston hadn’t survived his fall.

Illya looked back at Napoleon and shrugged.

“Well, I did say that you couldn’t be the one to kill him,” Illya reminded him. “Naturally, _I_ wanted to…”

Napoleon responded with a snort.

As the duo now reach the ground, they found the crowd dissipating as U.N.C.L.E. agents suddenly started swarming in from all directions, moving in to arrest the THRUSH agents inside the building and sealing off the area. Napoleon and Illya both stared as Waverly himself stepped out of one of the cars.

“I had a talk with your prisoner,” he said, looking from one to the other. He took a moment to observe Napoleon’s new form. “He explained everything. In the future, I would hope that you will not keep things like this from me again.”

Illya gave a glum nod, but then blinked as Waverly now looked at Napoleon for a moment before handing him back his credentials, communicator, and Special.

“I expect you to report back to work Monday morning as usual, Mr. Solo,” he said, sternly. “Given the circumstances, you will be temporarily reassigned to Section VIII—helping Mr. Kuryakin develop an antidote for this serum.” He glanced at Illya. “I trust you will put your very best efforts into it.”

Without even waiting for a response, Waverly moved on to check the status of the arrests. And Napoleon took a moment to look wistfully at his human photo on his credentials until Illya placed a gentle hand on his arm.

“I will put more than my very best efforts into it,” Illya promised.

Napoleon just held him close. That, he knew very well.

**Epilogue: Ever as Before**

Illya practically lived in the lab the next week, and Napoleon with him, helping him with retrieving chemicals and anything else that Illya needed help with. Baba Yaga stayed with them; though she had been initially alarmed at Napoleon’s appearance as the Beast, she soon realized it was him, and would often spend long hours attempting to groom his fur.

Finally, one evening, Illya held up a finished liquid.

“I think I’ve got it,” he said, breathlessly. “At least, I hope I’ve got it. Theoretically, this should break down the drug in your system, meaning that it will stop reacting with the adrenaline your body produces—and that should return you back to your human self.” Illya’s face fell. “Assuming it works.”

Napoleon gently nudged Illya with his forehead; he wasn’t going to blame Illya for anything—not when it was Gaston’s fault for making the drug, and Napoleon’s fault for allowing it to be slipped to him. Illya nodded and took a syringe, filling it with the antidote.

“Ready?”

Napoleon nodded, and didn’t even flinch as Illya injected the serum into his arm. Illya removed the needle and held his breath. There didn’t seem to be any change, however, and Illya exhaled in defeat, sitting back on at the counter.

“I thought for certain that would be it,” he said, ruefully. Baba Yaga meowed at him, and Napoleon gently nudged him again, but that didn’t seem to raise the Russian’s spirits at all. He drew a vial of Gaston’s red serum from his pocket, staring at it. “Then, there is only one thing left for me to do…”

He didn’t even respond as Napoleon nudged him once more; he just stared forlornly at the vial.

“I thought I had taken everything into consideration,” he said, feeling Napoleon’s grip on his arm. “Did I miss something? Or is there truly no way to reverse it? Or perhaps, it is simply beyond my level of understanding. I know I have limits; it will have to be up to someone else to try, then…”

“Illya…”

“But you needn’t worry, Napoleon. I swore to you that you would not be alone in this, and I will keep that vow--”

“Illya!”

“What?” he asked, distracted.

“Illya, you blockhead, it worked—and I’m freezing over here!”

Illya stared, dumbfounded, at his partner, human again and shivering. Wordlessly, Illya handed him his lab coat and Napoleon gratefully threw it around himself as Baba Yaga walked figure eights around his ankles, rubbing up against his shins as she purred away.

“You…” Illya began, stunned. “It worked…!?”

“Ah, yeah, it did,” Napoleon said. “So… thanks?”

Illya still seemed out of it, and so Napoleon gave a shrug and took it upon himself to give his partner a kiss of gratitude. The kiss brought Illya out of it, and the Russian returned it; they were lost in the kiss until they both froze at the all-too-familiar sound of Waverly clearing his throat.

“I wanted to see how it was going,” he said, flatly. “Evidently, rather well.”

“Ah, yes, Sir,” Napoleon said, tightening the lab coat around him. “I, er… I was wondering, since my transformations were the cause of a THRUSH plot, does it mean that I can get reimbursed for my ruined suits and silk pajamas?”

Waverly rolled his eyes.

“Yes, you’re definitely back to normal, Mr. Solo,” he sighed. “You know the procedure—take it up with Accounts. …But, preferably, after you’ve had an extended rest. I’d like for Medical to examine you, and after they have cleared you, I would like for you to rest at home. And this time, stay out of trouble!”

“Yes, Sir,” Napoleon mumbled.

“Mr. Kuryakin, you will look after him again, and this time, you will keep him in bed by any means necessary!”

“Understood, Sir,” Illya said, fighting back a smirk that caused Napoleon’s eyebrows to arch.

Waverly immediately regretted the choice of words.

“Never mind, I don’t want to know!” he said. “Just be here next Monday morning, and you’ll both be reassigned back to your positions in Section II.”

They nodded, and Napoleon cleared his throat.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Mr. Solo?”

“Thank you,” he said.

He didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t need to; Waverly nodded and left.

**************************

Medical cleared Napoleon to leave, and soon, he, Illya, and Baba Yaga were home. Baba Yaga decided to nap in an evening sunbeam while Illya put Napoleon to bed and soon found himself staying there with him.

“I never thanked you,” Napoleon murmured, as he wrapped his arms around him. “For everything you did.”

“You would have done the same for me,” Illya insisted. He hugged him tightly, almost as though he was still trying to convince himself that this was real.

“And you were ready to try to make the antidote again from scratch,” Napoleon marveled.

“Hmm?” Illya asked.

“When you thought the antidote had failed. You were going to try again, weren’t you?”

“…To be honest, I would have admitted defeat and let someone else with more experience try…”

“…Then why did you take out that vial of Gaston’s serum if you weren’t going to try to analyze it again?”

Illya hesitated.

“I was going to take the serum myself and transform,” he admitted, at last.

“… _What_!?”

“I was thinking about what Gaston had said—that being by your side was the only thing I could do. But it wasn’t true. I wanted to share your fate.”

“Illya--”

“Napoleon, try to understand… It wasn’t only that I didn’t want you to be alone in this. You mean everything to me, _Dorogoy_ … I wanted to live life with the one who knows and loves me most of all.”

Wordlessly, Napoleon kissed him, and Illya returned it. Thankfully, it hadn’t had to come to that, but it still meant the world to Napoleon that Illya would have been willing to make that sacrifice.

Then again, perhaps, he shouldn’t have been so surprised. As Illya said, they had each other.

And that would always be the secret to their success.

****

**The End**


End file.
